"Adrift" (A tale from TNTLWO)

[Alice2015]

"Adrift"

A tale from the "universe" of

"The Night The Lights Went Out"
​

2200 hours (10 pm) local time
MY Majestic (private motor yacht)
In the middle of the Pacific Ocean
(More specifically, here, halfway between Tarawa and Oahu):

(OOC: This is the internet page we are using to represent the yacht. "MY", btw, stands for Motor Yacht.)


Karen Kimball rolled out of her rack, dropping her bare feet to the tiled deck of her stateroom. She could have placed a nice, comfy, temperature-moderating rug before her bed but chose not to do so as the shot of cold on her soles -- typically sending a chill up her back and gooseflesh out her arms and legs -- was part of her awakening process. This process would be followed by a groaning stretch, a slow rise to her feet, a couple of twists and bends to touch her obviously bare toes, and finally -- thankfully! -- a huge mug of coffee from the little nearby electric pot that had been set this night to begin percolating at 2315.

Only when she'd performed all of the previous steps and crossed to the pot, Karen found the appliance cold and without the delicious smell of French Roast. Blinking her eyes clear of sleep and looking around the stateroom, Karen realized that there were other things also not working: the three, small, bulkhead-mounted safety nightlights were black; the electric clock's LED digital display was black; the indicator lights for half a dozen other pieces of equipment were black. Everything was black!

What the fuck? she thought. She was only half awake, but even so, her brain was telling her that this was wrong. A power outage -- either to her compartment or to the yacht as a whole -- wouldn't have caused all of these things to cease working at the same time. Some of them ran on batteries, and one of them -- the emergency weather radio -- was a windup device; Karen wound it two or three times a day -- including tonight, just before rack-time -- in memory of her father, from whom she'd inherited the device when he died six years earlier.

Karen padded across the cold floor, first to her night table to retrieve her watch, then to the porthole window through which the quarter moon was providing the only current illumination to the room. Looking at the watch -- which was windup and had no electronics or need for electricity -- she found that it was only 2200 hours, not the 2330 that she'd expected it to be. The mystery deepens, she thought.

Although she was the Motor Yacht (MY) Majestic's Captain and certainly didn't need to stand the Midwatch, Karen had chosen to do so for three very good reasons: first, it showed the crew that she was willing to partake of the worst duty time; second, it allowed her to spend from 2 to 6 hours with each and every crew member as their own watch rotation of daily work schedule had them on duty during Karen's own chosen duty time; and third -- and this was the most important reason, honestly -- it meant that Karen didn't have to deal with the Parkers nearly as much as if she was working the daylight hours of the 18 day long voyage from Tarawa, in the Republic of Kiribati, to Pearl Harbor, obviously in the US State of Hawaii.

I can't believe ... 18 fucking days, Karen had thought to herself innumerable times since learning of the Parker's plan for transferring their new toy from where they'd purchased it to where they kept a vacation home. At a cruising speed of 12 knots and a maximum speed of 16, the trip from Tarawa to Honolulu could have easily been performed in under 240 hours, aka 10 days. Karen wouldn't have minded the leisurely pace if hadn't been for the fact there was nothing between the two islands: no ports of call, no smoking volcanoes at which to oooh and aaah.

But Karen was a professional, and Robert and Gwen Parker were her employers. So, she'd smile to them and call them sir and ma'am, while simultaneously but inconspicuously trying to avoid them at every turn. When they'd departed Tarawa 6 days ago, Karen had told the couple that her nighttime duties were due to some staffing and mechanical issues. "I need to be available during those hours to provide quick action and command should there be any problems," she'd told them. She'd been very surprised that they hadn't questioned her further on the issue; even Karen thought her reasoning had been hokey at best.

There was a light knock at her stateroom's door, followed by a meek, "Captain ... are you awake?"

Karen slipped into her robe and opened the door to find Margaret Johnson standing there with a concerned expression on her face. Maggie, as she preferred, was carrying a small emergency candle lantern, little lamps normally only used for creating mood or romance for the boat's owners or guests.

"There's a problem, Captain," Maggie said without waiting for Karen to inquire about why the Parkers' Personal Aide -- not a member of the yacht's actual crew -- was reporting to the CO about a problem. "Everything's dead."

"Whaddaya mean everything, Maggie?" Karen asked before turning away toward her closet. "Everything is a rather broad term aboard an ocean-going yacht."

"Everything!" the 28-year-old assistant repeated with emphasis. "Engines, lights, radar, communications!"

The captain had disappeared from her view, and without thinking that she might be invading Karen's privacy, Maggie stepped inside to continue her report. She opened her mouth to speak but then only stood there in silence at the sight of the other woman dropping her robe to the floor at her feet; even in the low illumination of the candle lamp, Maggie could see that Karen's body -- in only a modest bra and panties set -- was wonderfully shaped, the result of good genetics, healthy diet, and daily exercise.

Not realizing that she was being ogled by the younger woman, Karen called back, "What's the OOD say about this?"

Maggie's ears and mind didn't immediately register the question as she took in Karen's athletic legs, firm buttocks, and hourglass shape. The young PA had learned she preferred other women when -- during a family vacation to her great-grandmother's country home at age 16 -- she was seduced and driven to unimaginable and previously unknown heights of ecstasy by her beautiful, sexy, redheaded second cousin, who at the time was days short of her 18th birthday.

She snapped back to reality at the Captain's calling of her name, turning her eyes away and reporting, "Oh! Yes, the, um ... Officer of the Deck ... that's, um ... First Mate Carlson--"

"I know who the OOD is," Karen snapped as she continued dressing. Now with both pants and blouse on, she grabbed the rest of her uniform parts, turned, and headed for her rack to sit down, asking, "What's Richard say the issue is...? Why did we lose power?" The girl opened her mouth to speak, but Karen did so first, asking, "And why in the world are you up at this hour making a report of vessel conditions to me? Shouldn't you be getting some sleep so that you're rested and refreshed to do your lady's bidding when she gets up ... well after dawn."

The sarcasm and lack of respect for her employers -- in this case the female half of the pair -- was pretty obvious in Karen's tone. She wasn't like this in front of the Parkers, obviously. She may not have appreciated the couple, but she very much liked the $180,000 a year they were now paying her to cruise them around the Pacific and, in a few months, the Caribbean and then Mediterranean.

 

[HumanBean]

Victor Carlson

Just before 2200 hours (10 pm) local time
MY Majestic (private motor yacht) "model" boat
In the middle of the Pacific Ocean
(More specifically, here, halfway between Tarawa and Oahu):

First Mate Victor Carlson changed the luxury yacht's course to 355 degrees, a few more degrees to port. Their destination, Honolulu, was at 75 degrees, far to starboard. Just a bit of a difference, obviously. But the boat's course wasn't currently determined by getting from Point A to Point B in the shortest amount of time. It was about comfort.

The luxury yacht's new owners had given Captain Kimball 18 days to complete a 9-day passage. They were in no hurry. They were looking for a smooth, comfortable, voyage back to their vacation home on the island of Oahu.

The Captain had in turn given her First and Second Mates their own orders. When they were in command on the bridge, they were to make the voyage as smooth as possible. That meant putting the bow into the waves to reduce the side-to-side roll. And at this moment in time, that meant turning away from their destination.

Point A of this particular voyage had been the island of Tarawa. The Parkers had flown there on a private jet to take possession of their newest private yacht. They were rich. Filthy rich. That was obvious even without a Google search.

Victor didn't have a problem with rich people. He liked them. And he liked crewing their boats. Rich people tended to both pay and tip better than his previous employers. Victor's last job had been for a discount cruise line. Retired Midwestern couples who'd saved all their lives for just one Carnival or Viking cruise tended to be stingy with their travel dollars.

Victor was reviewing the duty schedule for the expanded crew of 28. The Majestic typically operated with a crew of 18, including Officers. The owners, however, had wanted to ensure that their 8 guests were pampered to their hearts' content, though. So, Captain Kimball had brought on more personnel. That included engineering crew, deck crew, bridge crew, and bridge crew. Victor had thought it serious overkill. But hey, he wasn't in charge. So.

Suddenly, the bridge went pitch dark. Victor looked about himself for signs of the power outage. He saw nothing obvious. In fact, he saw nothing at all! The emergency lighting should have come on almost instantaneously. But nothing. Victor scanned the bridge and saw no lighting, no indicator lights, no illuminated dials.

"Get the engine room on the line," Victor ordered.

A moment later, the Bridge Officer told him, "Comms are down, sir."

Victor's eyes were adjusting to the intense dark. He rose and moved to the bridge windows. The skies were clear. The quarter moon and stars were as bright as he'd ever seen them. That was saying a lot for a man who'd spent many a night out at sea. Out here, the only light pollution was often just that of the vessel's lights. Now, even those were gone.

"Hanson, get your ass down to the engine room," Victor ordered. "Get me some answers as to what the hell's going on. There's a Maglite in there."

Victor pointed to a drawer. The Junior Officer fished the flashlight out. A moment later, he held it up, saying, "Dead, too. What the hell's going on, sir?"

"Get down there," Victor commanded, adding, "Be careful! We don't need bumped skulls and scraped shins, too."

The danger on just about any boat or ship was the number of tripping and head-bumping hazards. Only 18 of the current crew of 28 had ever worked the Majestic enough to know those hazards. Victor looked to another bridge worker. "Take a walk, Young. Knock on doors. I want all the passengers and non-Operations crew to remain where they are until we get the lights back on. I want all of the Op' crew to report to their emergency stations. I need answers about what the fuck's going on."

A body Victor wasn't expecting stepped into view, asking, "Permission to come in, Captain?"

Victor laughed. "Well, I'm not the Captain, but sure, come in, just watch--"

The woman tripped and fell forward, calling out in surprise. Luckily, Victor was right there. He caught her and stood her up safely again. He said, "I was about to say watch your step. We call those knee knockers."

He was talking about the lower portion of the bulkhead that ringed around the watertight doors. Most doorways used frequently by the yacht's passengers weren't watertight doors. They were just your regular ol' door and frame. But this was, after all, the bridge.

"Maggie, right?" Victor said. Even in the darkness, he recognized the new owner's Personal Assistant.

"Yeah," she responded. "Yes, sir, I mean."

Victor chuckled softly. "You can call me Victor. Or if your boss requires it, Mister Carlson."

He didn't bother to ask the woman what she wanted to be called. They were already six days into their voyage. Victor hadn't had a great deal of interaction with the woman. Still, he'd heard enough people to call her Maggie to believe it was what she preferred.

"What brings you to the bridge?" Victor asked. "What can I do for you?"

She told him what had brought her this way. She asked what was happening. Victor shrugged his shoulders, saying, "We're working on that. I think it would be best if you carefully made your way back to--"

Just then, someone called out in pain, then cursed. Victor shook his head. Looking to Maggie, he mused, "Knee knockers."

One of the Junior Officers stumbled in, still grumbling. She was carrying one of the mood candles. Victor and the woman talked a moment. Then, he suggested, "How about you get Maggie here back to her stateroom."

The two women departed by the light of the candle lamp. Victor presumed the Junior Officer would do as she'd been told. Maggie would instead end up going to the Captain with the lantern.

On the bridge, Victor began feeling the physical effects of the power outage. The ship's bow had pulled to starboard. The Majestic was falling victim to Mother Nature's power. Victor wasn't worried about safety. The seas were quite calm for this part of the Pacific in mid- to late-January. The ride wouldn't be as comfortable. But the boat was safe enough.

 

[HumanBean]

Robert Parker

2200 hours (10 pm) local time
MY Majestic (private motor yacht; model boat)
In the middle of the Pacific Ocean
(More specifically, here, halfway between Tarawa and Oahu):


Robert leaned back into the inclined seat of the bench press, grunting loudly. His cock leapt inside the mouth of the woman straddling the lower portion of the bench between his parted thighs. She tried to lift her head. She failed. Robert preferred cumming in her mouth as opposed to all over his crotch and belly.

Connie reluctantly gave Robert what he wanted. She'd been his Personal Assistant for almost three years now. She'd been sucking his cock for just two months less than that. She was well compensated for her skills. If she hadn't been, she would have been gone after he forced her to swallow that very first load.

His cock eventually ceased pulsing. He lessened his hold on her head and opened his eyes. He was surprised to find they were now in total darkness. Absolute total darkness. The Majestic's exercise room was in the center of the ship. No porthole windows. He whispered, "What the fuck?"

"Why's it dark?" his PA asked. "What happened to the lights?"

"I don't know," Robert answered with an annoyed tone. He'd just had a wonderful moment. Connie was professional level when it came to sucking cock. He always treasured those moments when they could slip away from others for a little fun. He really didn't need this now, whatever this was. He told her, "Scoot back a bit."

She did. Robert slung his leg over the bench and searched for his clothes. He found a top, but it turned out to be Connie's. He hadn't fucked her, so she'd only taken off the one item of clothing. He handed it to her and continued searching for his own clothes. It took quite a while to find and don everything.

Robert stood and headed for the door. He moved slowly, unsure of where everything was located. He'd only been in the gym twice before this. He cried out in pain and cursed as he kicked a free weight. Connie was clinging to his belt at the small of his back. It annoyed him. But Robert knew she couldn't see anything either. And the last thing he wanted to explain to his wife was how one or both of them had gotten injured in the exercise room at 10 o'clock pm the same night.

Robert collided less painfully with three more obstacles. Then, he had the doorknob in his hand. He whispered to Connie, "Stay right here until I figure out what's going on."

It was obvious that they couldn't leave together.

Robert opened the door and looked into the hallway. It was nearly as dark. The slightest amount of light was spilling in from a porthole window. He gently slapped away Connie's hand as she clung to him. "Le'go! Stay here until I come back."

He slipped out into the hallway. Slowly, carefully, he wandered off toward the nearest bathroom. Inside, he pulled his shorts and boxers down, then turned on the water. He needed to clean his cum and his PA's saliva off his cock before he went back to his wife.

There was no water, though. Robert correctly assumed that whatever had killed the lights had also killed the water pump. He found a container of wet wipes. Six wipes later, he thought he was clean enough to face his wife. He was about to leave when he heard men outside. He opened the door and flagged one of the crew down. The man was carrying a little lantern with a candle in it.

"What the fuck's happening?" he asked, annoyed. "Where're the lights?"

The crew members explained that there was a problem. They didn't know what it was. Robert told the guy with the lantern, "Get me to my stateroom. I need to check that my wife is safe and not scared."

He and the two men headed up a deck.

Robert totally forgot about (or simply ignored?) the woman he'd left behind.

 

[Alice2015]

Connie Lang

2200 hours (10 pm) local time
MY Majestic (private motor yacht; model boat)
In the middle of the Pacific Ocean
(More specifically, here, halfway between Tarawa and Oahu):

Connie had always hated the taste of cum, but what she got in return for what she did to, for, and with her boss beyond her official duties was worth far more than a minute's discomfort. Her official salary was $85,000 a year, which was already above average for a normal Personal Assistant who didn't take her boss's cock into whichever of her three holes intrigued him at the time.

But the compensation went far beyond her paycheck. Robert leased Connie a new luxury sedan or sporty coupe each year; paid the rent and all associated costs of a downtown San Francisco condominium; covered her credit cards and charge accounts at boutiques across the country; and so much more. Connie would never let Robert know this, but she actually tracked every penny he spent on her. Last year, the total had passed just beyond $500,000. No bad for organizing Robert's calendar and taking his cock up her ass on those days when he was overly stressed.

Robert never hurt Connie, though. It was the one thing she'd always told him would send her packing. He'd always honored that demand, and Connie believed that he always would. It was why tonight she was more than happy to let him hold her head down as his cock jerked hard and long, filling her mouth with his warm, salty, slightly bitter jizz.

The room suddenly went as black as night. Connie couldn't really say much -- her mouth was already full -- so she squeezed Robert's shaft tightly at the base, milked it for every drop, and swallowed. As she sat up again, her sugar daddy "What the fuck?"

"Why's it dark?" she asked. Connie didn't know enough about boats to know whether or not there was supposed to be some sort of emergency lighting. Initially, she wasn't bothered by the blackness ... but then her nyctophobia began to slowly creep in. She asked with concern, "What happened to the lights?"

"I don't know," Robert answered, obviously annoyed. Needing some room to move, he told Connie, "Scoot back a bit."

They both redressed, something that was not an easy thing for her to do in pitch blackness, particularly when her fear of the dark was only bothering her more deeply with every passing minute. When Robert stood to search for the door, she grabbed for him; she desperately needed him to stay close. When he cried out after stubbing his toe on an iron weight, Connie squealed in fear, thinking maybe someone else was there. Finally at the door, he told her, "Stay right here until I figure out what's going on."

"No, no!" she whispered in panic. Connie didn't know why she was whispering. Well, no, yeah, she did know; she was in the dark with her boss, whose cock she'd just sucked and whose cum was sliding down her throat to her belly. And his wife was just a couple of compartments away, either sleeping or waiting for her husband to return. "Please, Robert, don't leave me here alone in the dark."

Robert knew of Connie's nyctophobia, of course; she'd told him about many times in the past, and when they stayed the night together -- either at her place or in any of a number of hotels across the world -- he often complained that she had to have a light on nearby. And yet he slapped away her hand, stepped out into the not-quite-so-dark passageway, and told her, "Le'go! Stay here until I come back."

"No, please, please!" Connie begged, unsuccessfully it turned out as Robert closed the door between them. "Robert!"

Her heart was pounding like a jack hammer while the rest of her body was trembling in its sense. She was scared to death by the dark, but she was also confused, because she thought that maybe Robert was scared about something, too. Robert had been whispering to her, just as she had been to him. Why was he whispering? she wondered. What is he scared of?

She began to think that the blackout was something more than just a blown fuse. Pirates! It's pirates! Connie had actually spoken of pirates when Robert first told her that they would be sailing -- cruising or motoring was the correct word -- across the Pacific Ocean. He'd laughed, telling her there weren't any pirates in this part of the world. There actually were, just as there were in just about every open body of water in the world. But Robert had been reassuring enough to relax Connie -- until now.

Connie waited in the dark for about as long as she could before finally cracking the door and peeking out. Her hand was quivering so much that the door hand clattered. There was no sign or sound in the hall, but farther away she could hear angry male voices. She didn't realize that it was Robert quizzing crew members about the power outage. Again, Connie' brain was screaming, Pirates! They're here to kill us ... rob us ... RAPE us! I'm gonna be raped!

She started crying, the tears streaking down both cheeks. The passageway was only slightly illuminated but compared to the exercise room, it looked like high noon out there. Connie slipped out, turning the direction away from the voices. She crept somewhat hunched over down the bulkhead to one corner, around it to the next one, and through a watertight door. She wanted to hide from the presumed thieving, murdering rapists, but in every direction all Connie saw was more darkness.

She finally decided to get topside, where she would hopefully find moon and star light. What was she supposed to do then? Hide, she told herself. She headed up the first stairway she found -- what the crew had been calling ladders -- and then another, passing through one watertight door after another until she found herself being hit by what felt like freezing temperatures. Connie barely sensed it, though; she was simply happy to see the sky above her. She looked for the pirates, saw none, and ran, heading directly for one of the lifeboats. She fought with the tie downs, trying to get one free so that she could slip into the craft.

"Miss...?" a male voice surprised her, causing Connie to spin around and scream, scaring the crap out of the crewman. Once his heartbeat had started again, he asked, "Are you alright, Miss?"

Connie looked him over, seeing that he obviously wasn't a thieving, murdering, raping pirate. She looked around, seeing only other crew members hurrying about, tending to whatever the Captain and other officers had tasked them to do. She asked the man anxiously, "What's going on? Are we under attack?"

He laughed, answering, "No, we're not under attack. We're just suffering a power issue is all." He stepped aside, gesturing and asking, "Can I help you back inside, Miss. You're Miss Lang, right...? Your stateroom is on Level 2, I think?"

Connie was still quivering deep down, a combination of the nyctophobia and the apparently now discounted pirate attack. She asked, "Are there lights in my stateroom?"

The man promised her light, promising, "We have little lamps. I'll get you a dozen of them if you need." A couple of minutes later, as she walked with a candle lamp in each hand, Connie was back in her own room, where the man used his lighter to do as he'd promised and lit up a bunch of lights.

"Don't leave!" Connie begged as the man began to leave. Softer, she asked, "Please...? I can't be alone right now."

He told her he had things to do, but her desperation was too much for him. He stepped back inside, sitting, smiling, and saying, "I'm Brent."

 

[Alice2015]

Kimberly Kennedy (OOC thread)

10 pm (aka 2200 hours)
Movie theater
MY Majestic:

Courtesy of their very wealthy and influential new boss, Mister Parker, Kimberly and several others -- guests and crew both -- were enjoying the last few minutes of the latest Star Wars franchise movie, a production that hadn't even been released to the public yet, when suddenly the theater went dark and the digitally projected movie simply vanished from the screen. There were, of course, instant moans, groans, and even a few muttered profanities; they were just about to discover the twist behind who was this picture's truly bad antagonist, then nothing.

"It's okay, everyone," Kimberly said, standing in the absolutely pitch black and feeling her way with outstretched hands; the theater -- like the gym -- was one of only a half dozen non-engineering compartments that were located in the absolute interior of the Majestic, therefore no windows through which moon and star light might fall. "Everyone, just remain in your seats while I find out what's happened. It'll only take a moment."

As Chief Steward of the yacht, it was Kimberly's job to keep the Parkers and their invited guests happy at all times. To do so, she had taken it upon herself to memorize everything about the Majestic, from the features it had to offer to the layout of every space within the craft's shell, to even the general operation of the vessel's power plant, communications, navigation, and more.

That last part hadn't been some sort of effort to understand how to actually operate or command the Majestic. Doing that would have required years of experience in sailing -- or was it called motoring? -- that Kimberly didn't have and, honestly, had no interest in attaining. No, her interest was simply in knowing what the 200ft yacht with two 2,000 horsepower engines, 7 guest staterooms, accommodations for 18 crew -- stretched to 28 for this voyage -- and more could or couldn't do or provide for those writing her paycheck.

Because of this obsessive desire to know the boat, Kimberly didn't have to scramble here and now in the dark as her new employer was in the gym with his whore of a Personal Assistant. Yeah, Kimberly knew exactly what Connie Lang was all about. Anyone who didn't know that Robert Parker was banging his PA whenever the mood suited him was an ignorant doofus. Kimberly had even imagined that at this moment -- while almost every one of his guests were here watching a movie to which the rest of the world wouldn't have access until tomorrow -- Mister Parker was surely in another compartment somewhere getting sweaty with the beautiful, shapely, Goddess-like blonde.

It made Kimberly sick! Oh, not the cheating on his wife part, though, that did cause Kimberly to grimace at times. No, it was the whole Goddess part of Connie Lang. Kimberly was herself a beautiful woman -- people had been telling her so since she was a tween -- but her lack of self confidence in her personal life and particularly on the topic of romance had left Kimberly feeling that she was totally inadequate to land a man of Robert Parker's quality. To know that someone as elegant as Gwen Parker had landed a man like her billionaire husband, and then to know -- suspect? -- that that same man was dipping his wick in the hot candle called Connie Lang, what hope did Kimberly have of landing a good man?

Out of her row and seats and having asked everyone to remain seated until she got the lights back on, Kimberly lowered her hands and hurried forward, confident that she could see her way through the dark with only her mind's eye and her deep knowledge of every inch of the guest-related compartments. And then bam!

"Sorry!" Kimberly exclaimed as she reached her hands out again, grasping at the person into whom she'd collided. She herself had bounced off what almost seemed like an immovable object, for an instance making her think that maybe she'd actually smacked face first into a bulkhead. But then two strong hands reached out her way, grasping her just as she did him, and Kimberly drew a sudden and deep breath of embarrassed excitement as she instantly knew with whom she'd come into contact: "Nick?"

Kimberly's mind, which had been so instantly immersed in the tasks ahead of her to once again make the guests happy, immediately reverted to the image of the most beautiful man she'd ever seen in her life, diving flawlessly off the bow of the Majestic into the waters of Tarawa on one of the crew's off days. A chill ran up her spine and gooseflesh exploded over her so intensely that it hurt; she shivered at the combination of both.

Realizing that her hands were still very much on the man's torso and -- quite possibly -- even beginning to cop a feel of his absolute manly perfection, Kimberly pulled her hands back quickly, saying nervously, "Sorry! So sorry! I, I didn't see you there."
She laughed awkwardly, saying, "Well, obviously I didn't see you there. What I meant was..."

Oh, Jesus, Kim, you're gonna pee your pants! she chastised herself. Get a hold of yourself! She cleared her throat, reached out to find the man again, took hold of one of his muscular arms, and did her best to work her way around him as she said, "I'm just ... trying to get to the door ... if you'll just ... stay right there..."

A voice in the deepest, horniest part of her brain screamed No! Take me, here and now! It's pitch black! No one will see us! Kimberly giggled softly, her mind adding quickly, I'm sure they'll HEAR us, but ... they won't know who it is. It would, of course, be just her luck that in mid-orgasm, the lights would come back on, and five minutes later, she'd be packing up her things on her way to finding a new job.

But that wasn't going to happen even in Kimberly's dirtiest fantasies, though. Nick was the penultimate of males in her long list of fantasy subjects, but he was just a deck hand and Engineering Department trainee; he wasn't the Harvard educated, Wall Street experienced billionaire entrepreneur-type that Kimberly had always dreamed would one day slip a ring on her finger and the keys to a house in the Hamptons into her pocket.

"I need to get the lights back on," she continued saying to Nick, passing by him and reluctantly releasing her hold upon his forearm. "Won't take but a moment."

She hurried onward toward the exit, this time with her hands outstretched before her again in case someone else had risen from their seats. She reached and passed through the thick black drapery intended to keep passageway light from disturbing the motion picture experience, then found and pushed open the door and stepped out into said passageway. Kimberly hadn't known what to expect -- had the power only gone out in the theater? -- but she certainly hadn't expected the near total darkness in the passage as well. At the end of the hall, the portal window offered a glimpse of the quarter moon, but other than that there was no light at all.

Suddenly, Kimberly realized that she had no idea what she was supposed to do next...

 

[HumanBean]

Brent Mack, with Connie Lang (OOC thread)

2230 hours (10:30 pm, local time); 30 minutes after TLWO
MY Majestic (image)

In the middle of the Pacific Ocean
(More specifically, here, halfway between Tarawa and Oahu):

(This interaction between Connie and my character, Brent Mack, continues from Connie's last post, here. BTW, "TLWO" means "the lights went out", in case you didn't catch that.)

Brent Mack was in the Crew Lounge playing Texas Hold'em when TLWO. Even playing $3 limit, Brent was up almost $200. His fellow crew members would never learn not to sit with him.

He should have been in his rack sleeping. Brent's next rotation in the engine room began at 0545 hours. That's what coffee was for, he would tell himself when his alarm went off. Of course, he had no idea that that wasn't going to happen.

The lights going out wasn't the reason for Brent's immediate anxiety. It was his hand. His hole cards had been shit. He was only still in the hand because he was the big blind and no one had raised preflop. Then, he flopped both a straight draw and flush draw. Then he turned a straight flush draw. It was a gut shot, so his odds of hitting it were only 1 in 47. Still, good things sometimes happened. At least, when the lights were on.

"Freeze!" Brent growled in the blackness. "No one moves, or you're all swimming back to Tarawa."

Brent pulled out and lit his Zippo lighter. The flame illuminated his competitors' faces. He nodded to the next man up, commanding, "Check or bet."

One of the men began, "Don't you think we should--"

"Check or bet!" Brent repeated. "We're finishing this hand."

The checks came around fast to Brent. He bet the existing pot. One man after another folded. Brett didn't know whether to be disappointed or not. He'd won the pot, obviously. But he could have won more. Or lost more. He looked to the dealer. "Show me the river."

The dealer pulled off the burn card, then turned over the last card. Brent let out a groan. He would have missed the straight flush. But his flush alone would have won the hand.

The lighter was getting hot. Brent clicked it shut, putting the room back into total darkness. He raked in the chips, saying, "Everyone get to their stations. They're gonna want us to help."

He fired up the lighter again, stood, and headed for the hall. A couple of others flicked their Bics. They headed in various directions.

Brent checked in with the Engineering Chief. The latter told the former there was nothing for him to do. No one knew what the problem was. The Chief suggested, "Go topside and see if there's anything you can do there. The boss and his people are probably pissing their pants."

He did as suggested. And the Chief had been right. There was confusion all about the boat. This level of power outage was impossible. It was also scary. Speaking of scary, that was when Brent came across Connie Lang. He knew who she was, of course. Everyone knew who Connie Lang was. She was by far the sexiest woman aboard the Majestic. And there were a lot of sexy women aboard during this voyage.

Connie was trying to get into one of the lifeboats. That seemed baffling to Brent. The power was out, yes. But they weren't sinking. He asked softly, "Miss...?"

She spun and screamed. Her reaction startled Brent, who backed a full step. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sneak up on you. Are you alright, Miss?"

"What's going on?" she asked anxiously. "Are we under attack?"

Brent laughed. "No, we're not under attack. We're just suffering a power issue is all."

He asked to help her back inside. He wanted her to know that he knew who she was. Women liked when you paid them attention, right? He asked, "You're Miss Lang, right...? Your stateroom is on Level 2, I think?"

She asked, "Are there lights in my stateroom?"

They collected some of the little mood lamps from a locker and headed for Connie's stateroom. Inside, he began lighting them and placing them all about. He warned, "Be really careful with these. Boats at sea have three big enemies: storms, fires, and leaks. Personally, fires scare me the most."

Brent took a look around her quarters as he placed the lamps. He was trying to be inconspicuous. Try as he might, he couldn't help but stare at one sexy garment after another. Panties, stockings, bikinis, lingerie. He could imagine her wearing such things. Imagining was all Brett could do. He certainly hadn't seen Connie wearing these sorts of sexy things in the public parts of the boat. There was a Sun Deck where she might have worn the tiny thong bikini. But guys from the Engine Room didn't go up there.

He managed to pull his eyes off her undergarments. Looking to her only made Brett's imagination run wilder. He forced himself to tell her, "Okay, so, I'm going to get back to work--"

"Don't leave!" Connie begged. "Please...? I can't be alone right now."

"Well, I'd like to stay," Brent told her. "But, you know, the power outage. I have to help with that."

Connie's expression of fear and need was too much for him, though. He looked about, found a chair, and dropped into it. "Okay, I'll stay until the lights come back on, okay?"

That seemed to sit well with her. And honestly, Brent had no interest in leaving her. For a moment, she looked away. He took the opportunity to ogle her delicious curves. She looked back, and he introduced himself. "I'm Brent."
He looked around again. "I don't suppose you have anything to drink?"

Brett wasn't supposed to drink on duty, obviously. He wasn't supposed to drink within 8 hours of being on shift either. But this was an odd situation.

 

[Alice2015]

Captain Karen Kimball (OOC thread)

2215 hours (10:15 pm) local time -- 15 mins after TLWO
MY Majestic (image, internet description)
Pacific Ocean (here, between Tarawa and Hawaii):

(Continues from Karen's last post here.)


With a somewhat snide tone, Karen asked the Personal Assistant to the Majestic's co-owner, "Shouldn't you be getting some sleep so that you're rested and refreshed to do your lady's bidding when she gets up ... well after dawn."

Maggie caught the sarcastic tone but didn't react to it, instead responding, "Mrs. Parker is more concerned with learning what's wrong with the ship ... boat ... yacht?"

"Boat or yacht, either works," Karen informed the other woman. She slipped into a button up blouse and turned as she was buttoning it; Karen thought for a moment that perhaps the two decades younger female was checking her out, but just as Maggie hadn't called her out for her tone, Karen didn't call her out for the ogle. "No, I don't think there's anything wrong with the Majestic. Just an electrical issue. Our Chief Engineer will get it all figured out shortly."

Karen wasn't entirely confident that that was at all true. There simply wasn't any reason for such a total failure of such diverse electrical systems. With her blouse buttoned, she snatched up her pants and stepped one leg after the other into them, then sat to don her socks and shoes. As she was finishing dressing, Karen commented, "You seem to be handling the dark fine enough."

"Yes, ma'am," Maggie said. She chuckled softly, "Having been afraid of the dark since I was a little girl. Still, I need an answer for Mrs. Parker."

"I thought Gwen didn't like being called Mrs. Parker," Karen reminded the other woman. "Said to me once 'My husband's mother is Mrs. Parker. She never cared much for me, so I decided not to care for the name'."

Maggie knew she shouldn't, but she laughed, short and sharp but conspicuously inappropriate. She cleared her throat, explaining, "I call her Mrs. Parker because I thought you would prefer the formality ... Captain."

This time it was Karen who laughed. She replied with just, "I understand." Standing and gathering some things for her pockets, Karen suggested, "Why don't you come with me to the bridge, and we'll get the answers you are looking to take back to Mrs. Parker."

The two women each carried a candle lamp to make the trip safer, and when they arrived at the Bridge, Karen asked of the OOD, "Mister Carlson, whatcha got for me?"

She listened to his report, asking questions about damage reports or -- if they hadn't come in yet -- when he thought they would arrive. When he was done, Karen ordered, "I relieve you, Mister Carlson. Will you please do me the favor of escorting Maggie here back down to the Parkers' stateroom and tell our new owners what you've told me?"

She thought about her order for a moment, then said, "Might be better not to tell them that we don't know what the problem is. Maybe 'We're working hard on the problem' might be better. Don't want them thinking they should have replaced us after all."

There had been a chance weeks earlier that Robert Parker was going to sell the yacht he had in the Mediterranean and replace the Majestic's crew -- the command crew at least, and possibly the engineering crew as well -- with the men and women from that boat. Luckily for everyone here who had gotten used to the above-average pay, Robert Parker had decided to keep and lease out that yacht in the Med', thereby keeping the Tarawa crew on.

"Reassure your lady that all will be well before sunrise," Karen told Maggie.

"Thank you, Captain, ma'am," the PA responded before heading out with the First Officer.

 

[HumanBean]

First Officer Victor Carlson (OOC thread)

...with Captain Karen Kimball, Owners Robert and Gwen Parker, and PA Maggie Johnson.​

2230 hours -- 30 mins after TLWO
MY Majestic (image, internet description)
Pacific Ocean (here, between Tarawa and Hawaii):

(Continues from Karen's last post here.)

Things on the bridge of the Majestic had simultaneously gotten better and worse over the past half hour. Victor had dispatched three different runners to bring back status reports from throughout the boat. That was the good news.

The information they’d brought him, though, had progressively gotten worse. That was the bad news. The power outage was consistent throughout the vessel. Nothing electrical was working. Nothing! That was simply impossible.

Or was it?

Only two things could cause this kind of damage and effect. The first was an electromagnetic pulse weapon. Victor hadn't seen an explosion. He considered this option unlikely.

The second was a massive solar flare. That was possible. A solar flare wouldn't have been seen visibly. The aurora borealis would have been spectacular, though. Victor hadn't seen that either. Also, there were systems to detect imminent solar storms of this magnitude and danger. The Majestic would have received reports. It hadn't.

Victor turned to find Karen entering the bridge. he announced to the others, “Captain on deck!”

"Mister Carlson,” the Captain began with her familiar, formal tone, “Whatcha got for me?"

Victor gave his report with promptness and professionalism. He paused occasionally at Karen's inquiries, answering them as best as he could. Near the end, he stepped to the port side and looked out at the moonlit waves. The yacht should have been pushing directly into them. Instead, the waves were pounding the full length of the port side of the Majestic.

“Without power and steerage control, we're broadside to the current," Victor said. He wasn't telling Karen anything she probably hadn't already considered. "That means the Parkers’ smooth comfortable cruise is null and void.”

Victor looked to his Captain with a more serious expression. He warned, “At the moment, we're experiencing five to eight degree rolls at most. But it could get worse.”

He looked to a device mounted to the bulkhead. It indicated the roll of the Majestic from side to side. It wasn't electronic, so it was still working. It was little more than a tube of water, curved upwards in the middle, with a bubble of air in it. When the boat rolled to one side or the other, the air bubble remained in place. The tube, of course, moved with the boat. Reading the numbers above the tube told you the degree of roll. Simple device. It or something similar had been used on boats for centuries.

“My concern, Captain, is the last weather report,” the First Officer continued, “It included the possibility of 15-foot swells. Normally, we would just steer into the swells. But with the loss of steering…”

Victor didn't need to explain any more to the Captain. Karen knew the dangers. She said what she needed to say to Victor, then said, "I relieve you, Mister Carlson.”

“I stand relieved, Captain,” Victor responded.

“Will you please do me the favor of escorting Maggie here back down to the Parkers' stateroom,” Karen asked. She warned him about giving the Majestic’s owners the worst of the news. “Maybe 'We're working hard on the problem' might be better.”

Victor understood what the Captain was saying about the crew almost having been replaced. He'd probably been more panicked about it than anyone, even Karen. He needed this voyage, desperately. Not this particular job aboard the Majestic. No, just this one voyage from Tarawa to Honolulu. Victor's reasons he kept to himself, of course. He wasn't about to tell anyone about the cargo he'd brought aboard the yacht without permission.

He headed off the bridge with Maggie behind him. At the door of the Grand Stateroom, Victor knocked and waited for an answer. He'd expected Robert Parker to come to the door. Gwen answered instead. Victor asked, "Is your husband here, Mrs. Parker? The Captain sent me down to inform you of the current situation aboard the Majestic."

Just then, Robert Parker called from down the dark passageway. “Gwen! Honey, are you okay?”

The man almost bowled Victor over as he surged into the stateroom. He pulled his wife to him, hugging her tightly as he claimed, “I got trapped inside the exercise room. Pitch darkness. Couldn't find the fucking door. Then the hall was black, too. What a nightmare. Are you okay, honey?”

His tone started out sincere enough. The longer Robert talked, though, the less Victor believed his tale of horror. The First Officer had his suspicions. He wasn't the only person aboard the Majestic or elsewhere in the Parkers' world who suspected a more-than-professional relationship between the billionaire and his sexy PA.

But hey, Robert Parker was the boss. Victor was just here for the ride to Hawaii. He told the couple, "If you don't need anything more from me, I need to check on the Engine Room. See to this power outage."

“No, no, we're fine here, Victor,” Robert responded. To his wife's PA, Robert said, “Maggie, if you can stick around a moment, though. I'm sure Gwen needs you.”

Robert took a half step toward the passageway. He told his wife, “I have to go check on things, on people. We'd have guests who will be concerned, frightened even. I need to reassure them that all is well. I won't be long.”

He urged the women into the stateroom and closed the door. He took Victor by the arm as they walked, saying, “Get me back to the gym. I, um, I left someone there. My PA, Connie. She'd, um, she'd just delivered me some information, business stuff, from Japan, when the lights went out. I told her to stay there. That I'd send someone for her. She's probably scared out of her wits. She's afraid of the dark. I hated leaving her, but I needed to check on my wife.”

Again, Victor questioned Robert’s sincerity. But again, he did so quietly deep in his own mind. He said only, “Of course, Mister Parker.”

He led Robert through the Majestic by candle light. When they reached the gym, they found it empty. Victor said, “I'm sure someone already helped your Assistant back to her quarters, Mister Parker. Would you like me to take you there to verify that–”

“No, no, I'm, I'm sure that she's fine,” Robert answered nervously. He'd abandoned his mistress in the dark of a dead-in-the-water yacht in the middle of a vast ocean. The last thing he wanted right now was to face Connie in front of witnesses. He took and shook Victor’s hand, saying, “It's good. All good. I'll, um, I'll make my way back to my cabin on my own. You, you go check your folks in the Engine Room.”

Victor wasn't comfortable with abandoning the boss here like this. But Robert obviously wanted to be alone. Or did he want to find the curvy blonde on his own? “Yes, sir. Of course.”

Behind Victor, Robert went on a search for the woman whose saliva he could feel dried all over his cock and balls. He wouldn't find her, though. In six days at sea, he'd never gone to her cabin for obvious reasons.

Instead, he gave up the search and headed back for his own stateroom. Robert knew how to find it easily enough. And if he got lost, there was no harm in asking for help finding it and the woman waiting there for him.

 

[Alice2015]

Connie Lang and Brent Mack (OOC thread)

2230 hours (10:30 pm); 30 minutes after TLWO
MY Majestic (image)

In the middle of the Pacific Ocean
(More specifically, here, halfway between Tarawa and Oahu):

(Continued from here.)

"I don't suppose you have anything to drink?" Brent asked Connie after he'd agreed to stay with her until the lights came back on.

She smiled wide, retrieving bottles of both rum and tequila; each was already half empty, indicating that there'd been some drinking going on here over the past three days. Connie wasn't about to tell Brent just with whom she'd been drinking; it was none of his business.

She made them drinks, offering ice and mixer if he wanted them. She sat cross legged on her bed, facing Brent, telling him, "Thank you for staying." She giggled. "I, um ... I should explain ... about not wanting to be alone. I--" She laughed again, blushing. "I'm afraid of the dark." Yet again, Connie laughed. She couldn't help it as it simply sounded so childish. She clarified, "I suffer from nyctophobia ... the fear of the dark."

She talked about not being able to sleep in the dark as a child, about always having to have a light on in her room. "When I was nine, I remember having a night light in every socket of my bedroom. And when I say every socket, I mean in the top plug and bottom plug both of all twelve sockets in my room. Even then, I ... well, it wasn't enough, so I used to sleep with my desk lamp on, too."

 

[HumanBean]

Brent Mack, with Connie Lang in her stateroom (OOC thread)

2245 hours (10:45 pm); 45 minutes after TLWO
MY Majestic (image)

Here somewhere, halfway between Tarawa and Oahu:

(Continues from Connie's last post here.)

Brent wasn't surprised to see how well stocked Connie's wet bar was. He'd been part of the replenishment of the Majestic's stores prior to departure from Tarawa. A lot of booze had been brought aboard. And not all of it had reached their proper location. To be honest, Brent and his bunk mates had a couple of bottles in their shared cabin. Okay, yeah, sure. They had a dozen of them. But who's counting, right?

"Tequila," he'd told her. "On the rocks."

Connie did her share of nervous laughing and giggling as she talked about her fear of the dark. Brent had never heard the word nyctophobia before. But he knew the word claustrophobia quite well.

"My father used to lock me in a closet as punishment," he shared. "Track dirt onto the carpet, an evening in the closet. Break a drinking glass, an overnight in the closet. Once, I crashed my bike into the side of his truck. He loved that truck. He left me in there for three days. The only reason he let me out was that he came for his coat and forgot I was there."

Brent finished off his drink. He held the glass out for a refill. He laughed. "After that first full night in there, I got smart. I hid a box of supplies. Food, snacks, water. A blanket and pillow and some warm clothes on the top shelf. Later, I used to sneak a couple of his beers in there. I learned to drink that piss water crap he drank warm."

Again, Brent laughed. "Speaking of piss, I started hiding a wide mouthed bottle, too. And a bucket later, for, well, you get the picture."

Connie talked about night lights and wall sockets. She was so cute talking about her childhood. Brent looked around and found night lights in all the sockets in her cabin. He smiled again. She brought them with her. Smart girl. As smart as she is beautiful.

"The dark was never my issue," Brent reminisced. "It was the cramped space. It was a small closet. And it was full of my dad's stuff. Work boots. Fishing gear. Gym bag. Everything in there seemed to have its own stink."

He drained his glass again. This time, he set the tumbler aside. He was expecting one of the officers or the Chief. Someone would eventually come looking for him to work.

Or, someone would come looking for this beautiful, frightened woman sitting with him. Why the fuck hasn't Parker come to check on her? Brent wondered. Leave a fuck-goddess like this alone in the dark? What the fuck is wrong with you?

Brent was like so many others on the cruise and out there in the world. He had no doubts whatsoever that Robert Parker was getting a lot more than dictation from Connie Lang. Oh, it wasn't as if he doubted that a beautiful woman could be a successful Personal Assistant. Beautiful women took that crap like that all the time, particularly from other women. From ugly women.

Brent felt sorry for them, too. Ugly women. Not because they were less than attractive. Like Connie and her fellow goddesses, the 3s, 4s, and 5s out there in the world were simply ignored by men who thought they could only be happy with or satisfied by the 8s, 9s, and 10s. They were wrong! Brent had spent his share of incredible nights with less-than-attractive women who'd been absolute dynamos in bed. Fuck, they could fuck! he'd told himself upon waking many mornings.

He returned to his own tale of woe. "I used to sit in there and cry at first. I banged on the door, sometimes for hours, it felt like."

Fuck it! Brent thought. He held out the glass again for a third shot. "No one heard me, though. My mom had died when I was three. I had had aunts. My father's actual sisters who'd come to help in the beginning. Then the skanky whores my father took up with who he told me to call Aunt This or Aunt That. They came to live with us at times, but it never lasted. I had no either siblings."

Brent laughed nervously. "Wow. I've never told this to anyone before."

That wasn't exactly true. He told his therapist in the Navy. There'd been an incident while he was a Masters-at-Arms in the Navy that had landed him in therapy. That incident and the subsequent therapy had resulted in Brent getting an early out with an Honorable Discharge. He'd been disappointed at first. But then he'd returned to his first career, working in the Engine Room of boats. He loved this work.

"I got pass it, though, the claustrophobia," he continued with a thoughtful tone. "I would close my eyes and imagining myself on a boat in the middle of the ocean."

He laughed again, looking about himself. He was in a small cabin on a boat. Key word, small. He told Connie, "Ironic, huh?"

He closed his eyes and went on, "I imagined nothing but water as far as the eye could see. Then, in the distance, I'd see an island. Then trees. Then birds in the trees. Then little animals running around the trees..."

Brent's voice trailed off. He was in the zone. He opened his eyes and smiled, embarrassed. He drained his glass again. Last one, he vowed. His eyes took a quick walk up and down Connie. He smiled and laughed again. "It got better when I learned to imagine girls there, too."

 

[HumanBean]

Nick Paull, with Kimberly Kennedy (OOC thread)

10 pm (aka 2200 hours)
Movie theater
MY Majestic

(Continues from Kimberly's last post here.)

Nick had never been a fan of Star Wars. No, Star Trek was his go-to science fiction. Or Continuum. It had unfortunately ended after just 42 episodes. Firefly had been a true favorite. And it had had just 14 episodes! Who makes these fucking decisions?

He'd only come to tonight's showing to get his mind off a woman: Kimberly Kennedy. Nick had been told that this particular Star Wars spinoff series had its share of beautiful women in tight and/or revealing clothing. It was about time, Nick had thought. Star Trek's been doing it that way since Captain Kirk.

Honestly, Nick's true interest in science fiction was typically the female characters. They often wore little more than bikinis or skin-tight latex suits. The costumes or uniforms showed off every feminine feature. It was how Producers attracted male audiences to shows with failing plots and bad special effects, after all.

Nick was hoping to forget Kimberly for just two hours. He'd fallen in lust with her the first moment he'd seen her. Of course, anyone would have. It had been back on the beach in Tarawa. She'd been in a skimpy bikini in the surf. She'd been incredible, and he hadn't been able to take his eyes off her.

Nick had pictured it all like one of those slow-motion movie scenes. A wave came in, hitting Kimberly. It splashed high up her front. She laughed, shocked, turning toward the shore. Water ran down her bare skin. Over her delicious, modest breasts. Down her flat belly, narrow waist, shapely hips, and long legs.

Nick's cock had just about bust out of the front of his swimming trunks. He'd looked about for prying eyes. None. Then, lowering his beach towel to hide his groin, he slowly, then more quickly wandered away from the shore. He hurried to his jeep and drove to a more remote Tarawa beach location a mile away. There, got out, pulled down his trunks, and knocked one out to the image of the beauty on the beach.

Then, two days later, he was diving off the bow of the Majestic during some down time. He looked up to the boat's main deck to find none other than Kimberly Kennedy. The woman to whose image Nick had enjoyed his last self-induced orgasm. He'd had no idea that his new place of employment was already her current one.

All his brain could think was Fu-u-u-u-u-u-ck. Nick had a history of bad workplace relationships. He didn't need another one. So, for the last six days, he'd done his best to keep clear of her. Nick knew that the first time they were alone together, he was going to try to fuck her. And like all the others before her, she'd come to want distance between them.

Nick wasn't entirely sure what it was that drove his lovers off. He collected them well enough. He'd never counted the number of women with whom he'd had some sort of sexual encounter. But if he had, the number would have been pushing 800. 900 maybe. Possibly four figures, but only barely.

The women liked Nick well enough. Initially, it was all about his manly appearance. He stood 6'2" and weighed 205 pounds. He was muscular and fit, with hardly an ounce of fat on him. And like scars, which he also had, chicks seemed to dig his tattoos.

He was 36 years old. That was, as the saying went, old enough to know better when it came to a lot of things. He was also still young enough to do a lot of things better, too. There was only one thing Nick couldn't do better: keep a girlfriend.

He was sure it was something about him, of course. It had never occurred to him that it might be them. The chicks. Nick's unrecognized mistake was that he'd never once dated a good woman. The ones he'd known had always wanted little more from him than a hard, deep, satisfying fuck. Or two. Or ten. He had no problem provide that, of course. But it had never been enough to keep a good woman. Life was about more than a good fuck. Or two. Or ten.

And then suddenly, here Nick was. In the dark. With Kimberly. He'd stood to go deal with the power outage. He'd barely been out of his seat, though, when his hands were full of her.

"Sorry!" she belted out.

Nick knew it was Kimberly from the moment they'd collided. Her voice was the giveaway, obviously. But even though Nick had never held her before, his mind's eye knew the body he was holding against his. He wanted to lift Kimberly to the wall, press into her, strip their lower halves, and fuck her right here, right now.

Instead, Nick moved her back slowly, paused to gather himself, and said almost in whisper, "No harm done."

There had been harm done, though. If you considered the pain from his cock rapidly swelling so awkwardly in his tight-fitting jeans.

"Sorry! So sorry!" she continued her apology. Unknown to Nick, Kimberly had quickly concluded his identity, too. "I, I didn't see you there."

Nick might have said something about the whole seeing in the dark part. But his mind was elsewhere. He was back on that Tarawa beach. His cock in his hand. His cum firing out before him onto the sand. After learning that Kimberly was a crewmate, Nick had sworn off masturbating to fantasies of her. It has been hard. But he'd managed.

It was Kimberly instead who commented on the seeing and dark relationship. "Well, obviously I didn't see you there. What I meant was..."

He laughed. "I know what you meant."

He still had her upper arms in his hands. Nick knew he should let go of her. He didn't. He tried to tell himself it was necessary for safety. We might just collide again, if we don't know where the other is, right?

"I'm just ... trying to get to the door ... if you'll just..."

Kimberly was trying to work her way around Nick. He moved the wrong way initially. It only put them closer to each other again. She laughed, adding, "...stay right there...

"Sorry," he said. Nick shifted again. He put his back to the seats and hers to the wall. To the wall. To the wall against which he wanted to fuck her.

"I need to get the lights back on," she continued as he finally released his hold on her arms. "Won't take but a moment."

"Be careful," Nick said. He knew he should help her. At least through the dark of the theater. The theater with a wall against which -- Stop that! Think of something else, you stupid prick.

Nick listened a moment to all the conversation. People were scared. People were annoyed. Someone was telling everyone else just to stay in their seats and wait for the lights to come back on. Nick wondered if they would. There was something going on that was more than just a power outage. There was no emergency lighting. And the diesel generator hadn't kicked on. He would have felt the vibration. Most people wouldn't have. But Nick would have.

He made his way to the theater's exit and out into the passage. A man was passing with an illuminated Zippo lighter before him. Duh! his brain called. He pulled out his own Zippo, fired it up, and headed for the Engine Room. There was surely something he should be doing there. Something other than thinking about Kimberly and the theater wall.

 

[Alice2015]

Connie Lang (and Brent Mack, in her stateroom) -- OOC thread

2300 hours (11:00 pm); 1 hour after TLWO
MY Majestic (image)

Here somewhere, halfway between Tarawa and Oahu:

(Continues from Connie's last post here.)


"My father used to lock me in a closet as punishment," Brent told Connie.

She listened closely to the man's description of how he'd been abused, hearing and feeling his story in a way that forced Connie to consider her own abuse as a child and how it had led her to where and what she was today.

After her parents had died in an automobile accident when she was just 9 years old, Connie had had no family other than her mother's brother, Uncle Frank. Frank had had no interest in raising a little girl, but he had had an interest in the young beauty's earning potential. Connie had been as beautiful a child then as she had become a woman today, and with her comfort in front of the camera, she'd become a sought-after child model at the tender age of just 4.

By the time of her parents' deaths, Connie had already earned more than half a million dollars doing advertisements for magazine, television, and the internet. Uncle Frank wanted that money to continue since he was now the guardian of little Connie and her bank account.

But there was something else that Uncle Frank wanted from his niece: Connie herself. The abuse had begun with him taking increasingly more intimate, then erotic, then simply pornographic photos of her for his own collection and inspiration. It didn't take long for him to begin coming to her bed, though, something she finally brought to an end with a 12-gauge shotgun the night of her 15th birthday.

Connie was initially being charged with murder, then manslaughter, but a skilled domestic abuse attorney got the judge to sentence her to probation, supervision, and mandatory counseling until she reached age 18. Her wondrous foster parents helped her get High School Diploma via a local community college and a scholarship to university, where she completed two bachelor's degrees and a master's by age 22.

She'd had to move out on her own at 18, of course, and she'd had to pay her way. Connie had quit modeling, of course -- cameras made her remember her uncle and the abuse -- but being a beautiful woman who knew the value of her looks, she put them to work for her at a private "Hooters"-style sports bar where the "uniforms" were very skimpy, but the tips were incredible. Men ogled her from clock in to clock out, of course, but being a private club where annual dues were not refunded if you got booted out for fondling the waitresses, Connie never worried too much about getting felt up.

It was here that she met Robert Parker while she was working on her master's degree. He was married, of course, but that neither stopped him from asking her to bed nor Connie was accepting. Soon, she was his mistress, living in a downtown San Francisco condo, driving a new sporty coupe each year, and charging clothes and jewelry at a multitude of high end boutiques while also carrying a fistful of no-limit credit cards.

When she finished her master's, Robert hired her to his office as an Executive Assistant, then promoted her to Personal Assistant a year later. She began traveling with him around the world, sometimes with his wife at his side. They kept their personal relationship secret, of course, even though Connie fully believed that Robert's wife knew that her husband was dipping his wick in this particular hot pot of wax.

Connie's life had turned out to be far different than she or her parents would have expected when she got her first national children's clothes campaign, but had it turned out for the worst? It was hard for her to know; last year, after salary, condo, cars, charge accounts, credit cards, business/vacation trip allowances, and more, Connie estimated that Robert had shelled out over half a million dollars to her for the privilege of putting his cock into her holes at his desire and convenience.

And, of course, she kept his calendar for him. That, too, was important.

Brent laughed nervously. "Wow. I've never told this to anyone before."

"Thank you, then," Connie said, clarifying, "For trusting me with this. I'm honored. I know it's ... traumatizing to go through something like that ... and ... opening up about it isn't easy. But I'm deeply, deeply honored to be the one you felt comfortable enough telling this to ... really."

Brent talked about how he got past his abuse, closing his eyes and imagining himself out on the wide-open sea, approaching and island, landing there, seeing all the birds and animals. He laughed, asking, "Ironic, huh?"

"Yes," Connie agreed. She was staring solidly at Brent by now, entranced with him and his story and his trust in her; she hadn't felt this close to anyone in a long time, despite it having been only fifteen or twenty or twenty-five minutes.

Then he joked about his therapy solution's last step, saying, "It got better when I learned to imagine girls there, too."
"Imagine girls?" she asked with a devilish smirk. "Was that all you did ... imagine them?" She presumed that Brent knew what she was insinuating; would a boy that young -- tweens, teens? -- have felt comfortable enough to grasp his cock in the closet during forced isolation and imagine a girl on the beach, knowing that the man who'd locked him in the closet could reappear at any moment?

Connie's mind was rushing with thoughts that she shouldn't have been having, her thinking overwhelmed with a sudden and unimaginable lust for the man sitting before her on the bed. Before she even realized what she was doing, she stood, crossed the two short steps to the armchair, and crawled up into Brent's lap; her thighs parted, her crotch came into contact with his own, and she leaned forward to press her mouth against his.

"I've never wanted anyone as badly as I want you right now, Brent," Connie said with a sincere, hungry tone. She reached a hand down in between them and began unbuckling his belt, asking, "Do you want me?"

If he told her yes, she would ask him if he was carrying condoms, as she and Robert didn't need them, but she couldn't take a chance that she might take something back to her sugar daddy if Brent wasn't as clean as Connie needed him to be.

 

[HumanBean]

Robert Parker (again finding his wife, Gwen, in their stateroom) -- OOC thread

2230 hours -- 30 mins after TLWO
MY Majestic (image, internet description)
Pacific Ocean (here, between Tarawa and Hawaii):

(Continues from Karen's last post here.)

Robert had finally made his way back to the quarters he shared with Gwen. By the time he'd returned, their quarters was alit with some of the mood lamps from topside. There were also some decorative safety candles. These were designed for shipboard use. One of the greatest threats to boats or ships at sea was fire. So anything that produced a flame was made specifically to reduce threat, obviously.

He again took his wife into his arms. He held her tight to him, saying, "It'll be fine, honey. We have the best crew on the safest boat in the Pacific. They'll figure this out."

They separated, and Robert turned for the Grand Stateroom's grand ensuite to clean up. He told Gwen, "I smell of the gym. I'm going to clean up."

Robert hadn't had intercourse with Connie this night. He'd only had his cock sucked. But he still had fears of the scent of sex being upon him.

He closed the door and turned the handle at the sink. Nothing came out. He tried the shower. Again, nothing. Okay, you should have expected that, he told himself. No power, no pumps, no water pressure. He searched the drawers and found a couple of plastic boxes of handwipes. These would do. He stripped down and wiped over his entire body.

He donned a thick, white, cotton robe and returned to the living quarters. All he wanted now was sleep, a drink, and answers. The latter could wait until sunup. But Robert wanted them. He wouldn't have expected this kind of failure from a 6-year-old, single owner yacht that he'd paid $48 million dollars for.

 

[HumanBean]

Nick Paull, Engine Room Mechanic, dealing with those in the theater (OOC thread)

2230 hours (aka 10:30 pm) -- 30 minutes after TLWO
Movie theater
MY Majestic

(Continues from Kimberly's last post here.)

Nick had gone topside from the theater to see what he could do to help. He'd connected with the Captain Karen Kimball, telling her about the theater. He was ordered to help the guests back to their staterooms. The crew there were to report to their immediate superiors for orders.

He did as commanded, sort of. At the theater, he told crew, "Each of you match up with a guest. Get them back to their staterooms. Then, report to your supervisor."

They spent a couple of minutes arranging light. Some of the passengers and crew had lighters. Nick had brought four of the mood lamps and distributed them. He gave them all one last warning. "Stay in your quarters until sunup! There are simply too many ways to get yourself hurt on a boat at sea by wandering around in the dark."

And with that, the crew/guest combinations headed out.

Nick reported back to the Captain for more orders. If Karen had nothing for him to do, he had something he wanted to do. Find Kimberly Kennedy and make sure she was safe. And not afraid. And not alone.

 

[HumanBean]

First Officer Victor Carlson (OOC thread)

2330 hours (aka 11:30 pm) -- 90 minutes after TLWO
MY Majestic (image, internet description)
Pacific Ocean (here, between Tarawa and Hawaii):

(Continues from here.)


First Officer Victor Carlson had left the Majestic's owner to search for his missing Personal Assistant and returned to his duties. Each time he came across a crew member for the first time, Victor did two things. First, he asked them for their understanding of the boat's status. Then, he ordered them either to report to their duty stations or to return to their cabins until told to do otherwise.

Regarding the question, none of them had anything to offer. The power was out. Nothing worked. That was about it. Some had already been given orders. Victor either told them to carry on or gave them new orders if he thought he had a better use for the individual.

Regarding the orders he gave, he sent people where they would do the best work or the least harm.

Engine Room crew he ordered to the Engine Room, obviously. "Report to the Chief. If he has no use for you, return to your quarters."

The Deck crew he ordered to find a partner. "I don't want anyone wandering topside without someone with them. Crew or passenger. I don't care. Actually, I don't want any passenger out topside. They are to return to their quarters. Escort them there."

For most of the others, Victor told them to go to their bunks. It was 2245 hours, give or take. Other than manning the Engine Room or Bridge or standing the sole watch station, at the stern, there shouldn't have been any crew up and around.

Oh, wait, there was the kitchen staff. There was always someone there. The Captain wanted a chef, cook, or other staff member available 24/7 to tend to the guests' every dietary need. This was pretty typical for a yacht of this size and value. With the power out, there was no need for that post to be manned. So, Victor ordered all service staff to their rooms as well.

There shouldn't have been any guests topside at this hour. Some of the guests had been using the various luxuries of the boat: the theater, obviously, the Jacuzzis, and more. But access to the outside areas without a crew escort was discouraged.

Victor was theoretically off watch. The Captain had relieved him of the OOD watch. Still, he would spend the time between now and dawn walking about the Majestic. He was too wired to sleep. And when the power came back on, there would be things that needed to be dealt with.

 

[HumanBean]

Brent Mack (with Connie Lang in her stateroom) -- OOC thread

2315 hours (11:15 pm); 75 minutes after TLWO
MY Majestic (image)

Here somewhere, halfway between Tarawa and Oahu:

(Continues from Connie's last post here. You have to picture Connie dressed. I'll see if I can find more images of her. I know "Connie's" real name after all: Candace Swanepoel.)

Brent's eyes widened as Connie moved quickly to sit in his lap. Without the need for thought, his hands came up to her waist. They clutched at her, helping her into a comfortable position over his groin. What they should have been doing was helping her out of his lap. This was the billionaire boat owner's sex toy. Or, so Brent assumed, at least. Maybe he was wrong.

"I've never wanted anyone as badly as I want you right now, Brent," she said with a hungry tone. She began unbuckling his belt, asking, "Do you want me?"

Brent rose taller, pressing his mouth to hers for a passionate kiss. He felt the tension of his belt relax. He felt the snap of his uniform slacks pop. He heard the sound of his zipper lowering. And, of course, he felt the swelling of his cock and the sudden chill of the room as his erection popped out through the front flap of his boxers.

"I want you so bad," he purred back to her.

He was kissing her wildly. His hands slipped under her top. One pulled their bodies more tightly together while the other slid up her front side to cup an impressive breast. This was so hot that even if Brent was to learn that Connie was the boss's lover, he wouldn't have stopped now.

Brent leaned forward, cupped Connie's ass cheeks in his hands, and lifted her from the armchair. He carried her to the bed, laid her back, and proceeded to strip away his clothes. He wanted, needed to be inside this Goddess.

 

[Alice2015]

Gwen Parker and Maggie Johnson (with Robert Parker, too) -- OOC thread

2230 hours -- 30 mins after TLWO
MY Majestic (image, internet description)
Pacific Ocean (here, between Tarawa and Hawaii):

(Continues from here, where Victor escorted Maggie to Gwen's stateroom; and from here, which was Robert's last post.)

(BTW, I already have pics of Candace Swanepoel. I use one below. )

Gwen Parker had watched in silence as Robert wandered off into the passageway's near darkness with First Officer Victor Carlson. She knew that her husband wasn't going off to check on and ensure the safety of their guests in general; he was going to check specifically on the condition of his Personal Assistant, Connie Lang, in particular.

Gwen had presumed -- correctly, of course -- that her husband had been with his mistress having sex of one sort of another, and the smell of his cum had only proved her thinking. Gwen wasn't an idiot; she'd known almost from the start of Robert and Connie's relationship that the two of them had been bumping uglies. The sexy PA hadn't been Robert's first mistress, let alone his first extramarital sex partner.

Robert had had lovers outside his early commitment to Gwen and then their later marriage dating all the way back to when they'd first begun talking about marriage. They'd first told each other they were going to get married when they were 6 years old. It had been your typical little girl-little boy foolery. But the years would pass by, and the two of them would learn their places in the world, and it was a given -- even while they were still in their mid- to late-teens -- that the two of them were destined to be man and wife.

The Parkers and Taylors -- the latter being Gwen's family -- had been both business associates and close friends since the Depression; that's the one that began in 1929, not the wannabe depression that came later in 2008. The two families had help each other climb out of those great and disastrous depths, sticking by one another's sides for almost a full century.

There had been other marriages between members of the two families, but none had been as significant as the one between Robert Parker and Gwen Taylor. Each of them had been the heir apparent of their own family's great fortunes, which in and of itself would have constituted the coming together of great nations if only they'd been royalty.

But it wasn't only about what either of them would inherit from their families one day. Robert's business acumen had turn tens of millions of dollars -- his own personal wealth or money loaned to him by his father with interest -- into the $3 billion that he was worth today. And Gwen -- an internet influencer before that phrase was a phrase -- had made her own hundreds of millions over the years and, if she chose, could easily go forth in the world without her husband and be plenty comfortable on her own.

But they were meant to be together, Gwen knew, even if Robert felt that he needed to put his cock inside other women to be completely happy. She didn't mind that much; he kept his philandering quiet and out of the public eye, and while she knew that many people assumed -- again, correctly -- that he was diddling his beautiful blonde PA, Gwen was certain that Robert would never let it come back to hurt her in any way.

"Is there anything more that I can do for you, ma'am," Gwen's own PA, Maggie, asked as she stood just inside the Grand Stateroom. Reassuringly, she continued, "The Captain -- the First Officer, I mean -- he told me that the power would be back on any minute, but I'm more than willing to remain until--"

"No, no, that's fine, Maggie," Gwen cut her off. "Why don't you go back to your own cabin. I'll be fine here ... until Robert returns."

In the end, Maggie would stick around for several minutes, helping Gwen with things that the woman could very well have dealt with on her own. But eventually, she did send her PA packing, just moments before her husband returned. He again took his wife into his arms, hugging her tightly; she returned the gesture lovingly, without concern or thoughts about whom he might last have had in his arms. As long as you come home to me, my love, Gwen thought to herself, as she had so many innumerable mornings in the past.

"It'll be fine, honey," Robert reassured her. "We have the best crew on the safest boat in the Pacific. They'll figure this out."

"I'm sure you're right," was her less than enthusiastic response.

Robert spoke of needing to shower away the sweat smell of the gym, to which Gwen thought, I smell you but not her. Either way, you're not coming to bed with me like that.

The closest that Gwen had ever come to accusing her husband of being with other women in the past had been doing something similar to what she was now thinking: telling Robert he smelled and leaving it to him to understand that the scent was of other woman, whether perfume or pussy. Although others might not understand, Gwen didn't consider Robert's philandering as cheating on her. He wasn't doing anything to her; he was only doing something for himself!

Robert called out that there was no water pressure, to which Gwen responded, "Yes, I know. Maggie discovered it earlier. There are wet wipes in a drawer. It'll be like that backpacking trip we took in the Alps on our fifth anniversary."

Not really wanting to deal with her husband at the moment, Gwen called to him that she was going to bed, then did just that. It was their way not to disturb the other once the latter had laid down for sleep, so she knew that Robert would come to bed without jostling the bed and then simply go to sleep as well.

Unless something more unexpected happen, their night had ended until dawn ... or later.

 

[Alice2015]

Maggie Johnson, leaving Gwen's stateroom before Robert's return -- OOC thread

2245 hours -- 45 mins after TLWO
MY Majestic (image, internet description)
Pacific Ocean (here, between Tarawa and Hawaii):

Maggie hadn't made a mad rush for the door after Gwen told her she was dismissed for the night. And, just as Maggie had expected, there was plenty for her to do for her boss before she actually took a walk: she poured drinks, put together a snack tray from things in the kitchenette's cupboards and full fridge, straightened up around the Grand Stateroom, put away clothes that were unnecessarily out and got out clothing that Gwen would need in the morning, and got her boss into some comfortable cotton jammies and a thick, equally comfortable robe.

When finally she was cut loose, Maggie headed straight for her quarters as ordered. She got out of her work suit and into her own warm pajamas, then opened a book she'd been trying to finish for more than a year; she had to read or at least skim most of the previous chapter simply to remind herself of where she'd left off, only to then feel her eyes sagging and give up altogether. She slipped into bed to sleep but found herself recalling the delicious view she'd gotten of the Captain's backside.

Maggie had never been particularly attracted to older women; most of her lovers had been within ten years of her own age, which currently was 28. But Karen Kimball, now age 52, had a remarkably beautiful body, and Maggie couldn't help but want to see more than just its backside in the low light of a flickering candle.

Knowing that that probably wasn't going to happen -- she didn't even know whether or not Karen was gay -- Maggie instead slipped her hands downward into her panties and massaged her clit in a way that always brought her relief. Once the euphoria had subsided, she cleaned her fingertips with tissues, rolled onto her side, and fell quickly to sleep, smiling at the idea that she'd had the Captain at least in her imagination.

(OOC: BTW, we can probably stop putting the Majestic's location and such in our headers. The vast, vast majority of the story is going to take place aboard the boat. Maybe compartment IDs when necessary?)

 

[Alice2015]

Captain Karen Kimball on the bridge (OOC thread)

2230 hours -- 30 mins after TLWO:

(Continues from here, which was when Karen relieved her First Officer as OOD. Includes a bit of flashback dialogue.)

First Officer Victor Carlson announced to the others staffing the bridge, “Captain on deck!”

"Mister Carlson,” Captain Karen Kimball began with her familiar, formal tone, “Whatcha got for me?"

Victor gave his report, citing his primary concern: “Without power and steerage control, we're broadside to the current. That means the Parkers’ smooth comfortable cruise is null and void.”

They spoke of the current side to side roll of the Majestic of between five and eight degree. Karen knew her boat well, and she while she knew that the Parkers would not be happy with anything more than a degree or two, she wouldn't be concerned about safety until they reached double digits on a consistent basis.

Anything more than 12 degrees meant a disruption in many activities; more that 15 meant that the kitchen turned off many of the appliances and devices used to produce the extravagant meals the guests were expecting; and anything more than 20 meant that there was a serious danger of injury and equipment failure. This wasn't a Naval warship, after all, which could function just fine and conduct battle activities rolling twice that much.

"I relieve you, Mister Carlson,” Karen told her First Officer.

Victor responded by standing tall, saying, “I stand relieved, Captain."

Karen ordered Victor to see that Maggie Johnson was escorted to the stateroom of the woman who was, in part, the boss of'em all. As the older woman looked on, she thought she caught the younger woman giving her a look over her shoulder. Earlier, when the pair had been in Karen's cabin and she'd dropped her robe to change into her uniform, Karen had also thought she caught a look from the girl who was barely more than half her own age.

Karen had only ever had sexual relations with men. And the number of times and men that had involved such relations had been small and -- sad to say -- less than memorable. It had occurred to her that perhaps she should try women at some point, just to see if maybe that was where her sexual happiness resided. She knew she liked looking at other women. Who wouldn't? The female form could be spectacular, and honestly, Karen had never really been that thrilled with the sight of a naked man.

But she'd grown up in a conservative US Navy family, and had been instructed on family values, which -- in her father and mother's eyes -- meant Find yourself a good man, get married, have children, and such forth. No where in there was an option for kissing a girl, let alone getting naked with one.

After Maggie and Victor's departure, Karen would spend the remaining hours of darkness taking reports and giving orders. There was a lot to do and, at the same time, nothing to do. There were a lot of tasks that could be taken to ensure the safety and security of the Majestic, but there was nothing to be done about regaining power because they had no idea what had happened to cause it to be lost in the first place.

The Engineering Chief and a dozen crew members would keep busy over the next couple of hours, looking for signs of fire, flooding, collision, and even sabotage, finding nothing at all. All of their testing equipment had ceased working as well, which meant no testing circuits for shorts, opens, or failed electronics. It came down to how the Chief explained it to Karen: "If we can't see it with our own eyes, we can't find or fix it."

 

[Alice2015]

Connie Lang with Brent Mack in her cabin -- OOC thread

2315 hours (11:15 pm); 75 minutes after TLWO

(Continues from here.)

Connie laughed as Brent so easily lifted her out of his lap and deposited her on her bed. Being the Personal Assistant to one of the Majestic's owners, Connie had been fortunate enough to get a cabin of her own. It came with over-under bunkbeds, but without a bunkmate, the upper one had been lifted up and locked out of the way. The bed was smaller than those enjoyed by the Parker's guests, of course; most of their staterooms had just the one, larger bed, as well as such things as kitchenettes, dining tables, armchairs, and more. Connie's room had the two armchairs and a small table between them, but after that, it was pretty much just beds, dressers, and closet.

"I want you so bad," Brent purred back as he proceeded to strip away his clothes.

Connie smiled, then giggled as she looked downward to his groin and found his rock-hard cock poking out the front of his boxers, ready for action. Brent's manhood was longer and more girthy than Robert's, which itself was above average and plenty enough to pleasure Connie as she herself had been pleasing her sugar daddy.

Connie went to work stripping as well, in no time getting down to her undergarments. She rolled to free the latch of her bra, then arched to shed her panties; she playfully tossed them across the room and casually asked, "Do you have condoms...? You have condoms, right?"

 

[HumanBean]

Robert and Gwen Parker in their Grand Stateroom -- OOC thread

2300 hours -- 1 hour after TLWO

(Continues from here.)

Robert took his time cleaning up in the bathroom. He didn't smell like Connie. He hadn't fucked her. When he did, they often got hot and sweaty. Robert enjoyed energetic sex, and Connie exercised to keep up with him. But she had sucked his cock. So his groin smelled of saliva and cum.

He found Gwen already lying on her left side on the right side of the bed. This was how they slept at home, too. He knew why she'd quickly gone to bed. To avoid dealing with him. They very much loved each other. But part of keeping their extramarital sexual activities private was not taking the chance that such things came up in conversation. The hour after he'd gotten head was not the time to have a deep, meaningful conversation.

Robert wasn't the only Parker getting a little on the side. He knew that. He was a bit more active in his philandering than his wife was. He knew that, too. He wasn't sure how he felt about the unequalness of their play. Should he feel guilty about having far more lovers than Gwen did?

He had an unusual way of reducing the number of women into whom he put his cock: mistresses. When he had one, Robert didn't partake of additional sexual partners. Not usually. There had been a few occasions when he'd stepped out on both his wife and mistress. But not many. Robert actually believed that having a mistress was somehow more respectful than having a series of throw away lovers.

Connie Lang had been Robert's mistress longer than any of the others in his past. He first started fucking her when she was just 21. She was 27 now. She'd been a waitress in a members-only Hooters-like sports bar. He'd been polite and gentlemanly. She'd been flirty and intelligent.

His interest piqued when she told him of her degrees in business and business administration. She was well suited to become a Personal Assistant. He asked to meet her for dinner. And their relationship only grew from there into what it was today.

Most men like Robert kept a mistress for a year or two, maybe three. Then it was time to move on to a younger model. But Robert was entirely satisfied with Connie. That applied to her duties in and out of bed both. He had no reason to move on.

Gently, he slipped into bed. He was about to blow out the mood candle on the lamp table. But he stopped. It reminded him of Connie. She couldn't sleep in the dark. Nyctophobia. Over their time together, Robert had learned to sleep with a light or two or ten on in the room. It hadn't been an easy transition. He'd always preferred a dark room.

Robert laid back and stared at the ceiling. The light of the candle danced upon it. He felt guilty about Connie. He'd abandoned her in the gym so as not to be found with her. When he'd returned, she was gone. She certainly made it back to her cabin. Hadn't she?

 

[HumanBean]

Brent Mack with Connie Lang in her cabin -- OOC thread

2315 hours (11:15 pm); 75 minutes after TLWO

(Continues from here.)

Brent watched Connie strip. His eyes and smile both widened. She was incredible. One of the most beautiful creatures he'd ever seen. He murmured just loud enough for her to hear, "Incredible, absolutely incredible."

She made herself comfortable for him, then asked, "Do you have condoms...?"

Brent hesitated, his smile fading. He'd been so excited to get inside her that he'd forgotten about protection.

She asked with more seriousness, "You have condoms, right?"

"I, um," he mumbled. He sat back on his haunches. His cock pointed out at her as if pointing the way to paradise. "Sorry. I, um, I wasn't expecting to need them. "You don't have any?"

It hadn't occurred to Brent that Connie didn't use them. If he'd thought about it, it would have come to him. If Connie was Robert's mistress, would they use prophylactics? Probably not. They'd both be checked for disease. And after that they wouldn't need them. Connie would need birth control. Unless Robert had been cut. There was no way for Brent to even guess at whether that was true or not.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I just, I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

 

[Alice2015]

Connie Lang and Brent Mack in her cabin -- OOC thread

2315 hours (11:15 pm); 75 minutes after TLWO

Connie saw Brent's reaction when she asked expectantly about whether he was carrying condoms, and she knew what the answer was before he said it. He confirmed, "I, um ... Sorry. I, um, I wasn't expecting to need them. You don't have any?"

"No I don't have any," she said with a tone that came out a bit harsher than she'd meant it to be.

"I'm sorry," Brent repeated. "I just, I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

Connie casually brought her parted thighs back together like a closing gate, her knees up a few inches as if a barricade between them, and her arms across her chest like a closing curtain. It was a less dramatic version of what she used to do after Uncle Frank had taken dirty pictures of her or, later on, sexually abused her.

"I can't have sex without protection, Brent," she told him in a soft but serious tone. "I'm sorry. Maybe ... maybe we'd should just ... you know..."

Connie hated the idea of sending the man off without him fucking her; it had been over six years since she'd enjoyed the pleasure of a cock other than Robert's, and while she usually came during their encounters, too, very often sex with her sugar daddy felt more like work than play.

She considered oral sex as an alternative, but Connie knew that would only lead to fucking, and that was simply of the table. Besides, she wanted to be fucked!

If he asked, she would politely let Brent know that there answer was no.

 

[HumanBean]

Brent Mack, with Connie Lang in her cabin -- OOC thread

2315 hours (11:15 pm); 75 minutes after TLWO

Brent could feel his cock literally going flaccid. Connie had suggested that they call it a night without fucking. Later, his brain would scream My kingdom for a condom!

Right now, though, all his brain could form for his mouth to say was, "I understand."

He hesitated a moment. He was thinking the same thing Connie was: Oral maybe? No. Probably not. I know where that would go.

Brent slipped off the bed and started redressing. This went slower than his undressing had, obviously. He looked to Connie. She was so incredible. How was he missing out on this?

He smiled weakly. "I'm sorry about this. Like I said, I hadn't planned this."

Brent recalled that it was Connie who'd asked him here. I shouldn't be sorry. She should.

But he felt no anger about this. Connie hadn't planned this either.

"Maybe later?" he asked hopefully.

 

[Alice2015]

Connie Lang and Brent Mack in her cabin -- OOC thread

2320 hours (11:20 pm); 80 minutes after TLWO

(OOC: The times above are just my way of showing that time has passed since this interaction between Connie and Brent began. It's not as if the exact minutes of the day are important.)

Connie saw the disappointment in Brent's face, leading her to wonder what her own expression was saying to him. She, too, was disappointed; not once in the past 6+ years had she gotten so close to feeling a cock inside her that didn't belong to Robert Parker. She'd been excited for this from the moment her horny brain had screamed at her, Look at him! He's beautiful! He's kind and generous and he stayed with you when you were afraid. Fuck him! Fuck him now!

She was so tempted to forego the condom and just take a chance on the man. But that would be crazy! One if five sexually active Americans had some form of sexually transmitted disease according to the Center for Disease Control. (Connie had looked it up once when her female parts were acting up on her and she was afraid that Robert had given her something. He hadn't, thank God, and after a few days Connie was fine and dandy.)

Are you going to chance your future on a 20% chance of catching something that you'll probably pass to Robert? she asked herself as she watched Brent dress. Connie's entire existence was based upon her loyalty to her sugar daddy. What would she do if Robert decided he didn't want her anymore? She would lose her salary, condo, her car, her credit cards, her charge accounts, and the random bits of cash -- more often than not in multitudes of hundred-dollar bills -- that Robert gave her to go have fun.

Then there were the trips on which Connie had accompanied Robert: London, Paris, Lisbon, Madrid, Prague, Moscow. And that was just Europe! He'd taken her to Africa, Asia, Australia, South America, a multitude of North American cities -- Canada, Mexico, and, of course, the US -- and they'd even visited fucking Antarctica on a tour sponsored by National Geographic and the World Wildlife Fund, to which Robert and Gwen had contributed millions of dollars.

Many if not most of them had been written off as business trips; Robert had met with one or more current or potential business partners to give legitimacy to the tax write off. Gwen had accompanied him on many of them as well, as long as they didn't conflict with her own business and/or charity obligations. Connie had actually preferred to have Gwen present as it meant she spent less time servicing Robert; her lover/boss tended to get particularly amorous when he was out and about in the world, which was probably why she'd had him emptying his balls in one or the other of her three holes at least once a day each of the past six days, not something that was a normal thing for them.

After he'd gotten fully dressed, Brent looked to Connie and asked with a hopeful tone, "Maybe later?"

She gave him her best sure, you bet smile, telling him, "I'm sorry this happened, but ... we'll see each other again." She laughed. "It's not that big a boat."

He stood to leave, but before he could get out of reach, Connie suddenly rose and snatched his hand with one of her own; her second hand snatched up her shirt and held it casually before her, certainly not hiding all of her female features but, at the least, giving an air of modesty.

"Brent, wait, I..." Connie began, her tone one of nervousness and hesitance. She gestured him to sit beside her, then said, "I need to say something to you."

When he sat, she moved up close to him, looked him in the eyes for a long moment, licked her lips seductively, then leaned it for a soft but erotic kiss. When their lips parted, she sat back farther and slowly let the shirt slip from her bosom into her lap, exposing her bountiful breasts and their pert nipples.

"I want to be with you," she began, nervous but sincere. "But I need you to understand something." Connie looked down for a moment, then back up to continue, "I'm a kept woman. You ... you might have assumed that. I think a lot of people who see me and Robert together assume that. It--"

She drew a deep breath, her bosom enlarging dramatically before returning to its natural state of perfection. She continued with a matter-of-fact tone, "He takes care of me. Very well, actually. And I can't risk losing that."

She moved closer to Brent again, reaching out a hand and touching her fingertips to his lips in an intimate gesture. She leaned in again, kissed him softly, and continued, "I need you to do two things for me if you will." She paused before continuing, "One ... I need you to not show me any undue attention." Again, she hesitated, and only after she leaned in and shared a dramatically erotic kiss with him, Connie said, "And two ... I need you to find some condoms ... because you and I are going to try this again ... very soon."

She leaned back onto her haunches again, found her blouse, slipped it back over her head to hide her wondrous bosom, and said with an almost sad tone, "That is ... unless I have messed this all up ... and blown my opportunity with you."